Old craked streets, paint chipped lines

People line the streets waiting in line

Hope we don't run out of food

Yet we've run out of money

 

We are poor 

Most believe we deserve to sleep on the floor

Profiled and reviled

Promices as hollow as our stomachs

Some have no home

Yet it's their fault

 

Wrong

We are promiced that we can be anything we want when we grow up

But others step on us to rise

Pretent to help us when all they do is push us down insteat of latching on to lift us up

 

I'm strong

I've clawed my way out of the dirt and look down to see my brothers and sisters weakly reach

I've made them a promice to come back

I know what their pain is

and they know mine

 

We need change

We need a country where all lives matter

Black, White, Mexican, Native American, Asian, and more

Should all be looked at with potentiol

We need to live in a America where we aren't slaves to our debt

 

We are are the poor

Hear our roar

Our lives matter